This was the moment, if I had any agency as a toddler, I would have walked away from my family. I disagreed with my father–I mean really locked horns. Our farmer friend had given me a lamb to keep as a pet. Maybe he was even the same lamb I cradled as a newborn that day on the farm. The best day. And now this, receiving my own woolly baby, was the new best day. When it came time to go to bed, my father instructed me to leave the lamb, who I’d named Junior, in our garage. By himself. All night. I insisted he must sleep with me. At least be brought inside. Babies should not be alone. All night. Wondering. No, my father said, he was an animal, and animals belong outside. This went back and forth, neither of us budging. Finally I relented, because ultimately parents make the rules. It’s not like they say; you don’t leave home as an adult: a clean break, a rite of passage, a slap on the back, good prospects. I’ve always been leaving, one moment at a time. Until finally, I’m not there anymore. I’m here.